Six Millennia
by Musegaarid
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have a lot of history... Abandoned, but the chapters hold up pretty well on their own.
1. The Garden of Eden

_In the beginning._

_It was a nice day._

_All the days had been nice. There had been rather more than seven of them so far, and rain hadn't been invented yet. But clouds massing east of Eden suggested that the first thunderstorm was on its way, and it was going to be a big one._

…

_Slate black curtains tumbled over Eden. Thunder growled among the hills. The animals, freshly named, cowered from the storm._

_Far away, in the dripping woods, something bright and fiery flickered among the trees._

_It was going to be a dark and stormy night_.

* * *

It was a dark and stormy night. 

Aziraphale gave up trying to shield himself from the rain and lowered his wings. (1)

"So, what happens next?" asked Crawly, who had snaked his way up the side of the Gate, in order to avoid being suffocated in the newly created mud.

"I don't know what happens next for you, but my duty is to guard this Gate until I'm told otherwise."

Somehow the serpent smirked. "You're guarding a place with no one in it from two people who now have the weapon that you were supposed to use to keep them out? You know, the fact that you gave them the means to overpower you and re-enter the Garden probably won't make them happy Up There."

Aziraphale looked worried. "It does sound a bit ridiculous when you put it that way, but nevertheless that is my duty and I will do it. You don't really think they'll try to come back, do you? If they did, I would just have to fight them and retrieve the sword."

"Nah. They're too afraid. They won't come back. But even if they did, you'd never fight them. She's weak and with child and alone he's no match for an angel, even with a flaming sword. Except for you, maybe," he said dismissively.

Aziraphale glared at him and said nothing. A few minutes passed silently, apart from the patter of the heavy rain.

"What are you going to do?" asked the angel thoughtfully.

Crawly made a complicated wiggle that looked like the serpentine equivalent of a shrug.

"If I get called back, I'll go back. If I don't, I'll stay here and keep making trouble. I like it here." He looked up. "Even with this rain stuff it's better than Hell."

"Yes? What's Hell like anyway?"

"Hot."

"That's all?"

"Why? You want to find out personally?"

There was another tense silence, which Crawly broke this time.

"What do you think they're doing out there?"

The angel looked towards the flickering firelight. "I don't know. Just trying to stay warm and dry, I suspect."

"Sounds to me like they've got the right idea. Bugger this, I'm out of here."

Aziraphale watched Crawly slither down the gate, moonlight glinting off his shiny scales, until he was gone. The angel then stood in his assigned place, waiting. Although time still had very little meaning, it was about an hour later when what he had been dreading actually occurred. A golden light filled the air before his eyes and the Lord spoke to him without preamble.

"Where is the flaming sword which was given unto thee?"

The angel glanced around. "I had it here only a moment ago. I must have put it down somewhere. Forget my own head next." He smiled weakly.

Without another word, the light and the Presence were gone.

_Please forgive me, Lord_, he thought.

Aziraphale knew he was going to be punished for this transgression and he had a fair idea as to what that punishment would be. He was already on probation for an incident that had occurred during the war.

_The clanging of steel on steel and the tang of blood filled the air as angels fought all around him. He was running, jumping, half-flying over fallen debris, as he tried to make his way to the Abyss. "Stop them from escaping," Michael had said. "Kill them if you have to, but don't let them Fall. Heaven will be outnumbered at this rate!" Igniting his sword with a whoomph, Aziraphael had run desperately towards the gaping hole at the center of Heaven. _

_When he finally arrived, he could see that hundreds of angels were standing shoulder-to-shoulder around the gaping chasm preventing any more rebels from going through. There was one last empty space that he was clearly supposed to fill and he rushed towards it. Suddenly out of nowhere, a body tackled him from the side and they fell in a tangled heap to the ground. After a brief scuffle, Aziraphael leapt to his feet and turned to face his attacker._

_"Draw your sword, rebel."_

_"No," declared the lesser angel._

_"What do you mean, 'no'? Draw your sword and I will fight you."_

_"No," he said again. "You will have to kill me for I will not fight you."_

_"Then you renounce the rebellion and desire to return to the Heavenly Host?"_

_The rebel angel sneered. "Indeed I do not. I desire to die for my cause and I desire for you to have my blood on your hands for all eternity. Do it, Cherub."_

_Aziraphael hesitated. Was it really part of God's plan for him to kill a fellow angel in cold blood? He didn't think he'd been created as a soldier, but it was certain that He had foreseen this moment and knew already what Aziraphael would do. Unfortunately, he didn't know himself and second guessing God wouldn't help. He had been recently ordered to stop the rebels from escaping at any cost, but his original duty was compassion and this rebel wasn't really trying to escape anyway. How was he to determine which took precedence? He became so withdrawn while he agonized over the question, that he didn't see the other angel's eyes flicker to the Abyss. Nor did he see Michael rise up and swing his sword, until it was too late and the rebel was dead. His eyes were closed and he was smiling as his body dissolved back into the ether from which it was formed._

_"Aziraphael!" roared Michael. "Get to your post!"_

_He turned to flee towards the hole, where a horrible sight caught his eye. Another dozen or so rebels, pulling a somewhat reluctant angel behind them, were sneaking through the gap he had left in the circle. The rebel angel he'd been speaking to must have been left as a sacrifice in order to distract him so that they might escape. He moved faster than he'd ever moved before, but it was too late. By the time he skidded into place, the twelve had gone and dragged the thirteenth with them. Aziraphael got an impression of dark hair and outstretched wings as the last angel Fell just a little more slowly than his fellows, but then he, too, was gone._

_"That was the last!" Michael bellowed. "Seal the Abyss!"_

_The angels grasped hands and a golden bubble formed around them and the huge chasm. Slowly, and with great effort, the bubble began to contract and the ugly gateway sealed. With a pop, the bubble and hole were gone. Exhausted, the angels staggered away to mourn the dead and the Fallen._

_"Not you, Aziraphael," said Michael._

_Aziraphael halted and turned back to the archangel._

_"Yes, Michael?"_

_"Because of your inability to smite a single, unarmed rebel, even under orders to do so, you have created another thirteen demons to work against the Lord. Congratulations. You are demoted to Principality for such a time as I see fit and you will call yourself Aziraphale as a mark of this punishment. Another mistake and it will be permanent. Do you understand?"_

_Aziraphae...Aziraphale hung his head. "Yes, Michael."_

_He didn't really mind the reduction in rank and the public humiliation of the name change. He didn't really fit in with the other Cherubs anyway. What he did mind was the memory of that last reluctant angel tumbling from the grace of Heaven. What if that angel hadn't really wanted to Fall? Could Aziraphale have saved him if he'd killed the rebel? It was something he'd wonder about forever._

Aziraphale was shaken from his reverie by another beam of light. Blue this time. Through it came Gabriel, the Messenger, and Aziraphale braced himself for the bad news.

"Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate," Gabriel began, officially. "Due to the unauthorized distribution of angelic equipment to a human being," here he looked sternly at Aziraphale, "your temporary demotion from Aziraphael, Cherub to Aziraphale, Principality is now made permanent. You are hereby relieved of your duties at the Eastern Gate and are reassigned. From now on, your task will be to remain on Earth until further notice, influencing the humans to behave properly so that they might once again be received by God."

Gabriel's face indicated that he thought this was the worst punishment that could befall any self-respecting angel. Aziraphale didn't think it sounded too bad.

The archangel continued, "At the beginning, you must do this without being seen, heard, or otherwise sensed. Adam, Eve, and their children and their children's children unto the seventh generation must not know that the Lord continues to watch over them, for knowledge is not faith. They have free will now and must earn their salvation with it. You will retain your ability to perform miracles as long as they do not notice, but you cannot intervene directly. Once the world has been significantly populated, you will be given a human body to continue your work." He paused and sighed. "Do not fail again, Aziraphale, or the subsequent consequences will be dire."

"What about the gate?" asked the lesser angel.

"A _Cherub_ has been assigned to it."

Aziraphale winced, and Gabriel continued.

"He will be here shortly to guard the gate while we begin the process of dismantling the garden."

"The Garden is going to be dismantled?" asked Aziraphale, shocked.

Gabriel scoffed. "Of course it will be, what did you think would happen? The humans no longer deserve it. The animals and plants will be distributed around the globe and then the walls and gates will be destroyed. It will be as any other piece of land upon the Earth."

Aziraphale silently disagreed. He would always know it had been there. "How long will this take?"

"As long as our Lord deems it necessary, Aziraphale. Just begin your new task and do not ask so many questions."

The blue light brightened, Gabriel stepped through it, and then he was gone, too, leaving Aziraphale alone again.

The angel slowly closed the Eastern Gate, making sure it was securely locked and decided that if his job was to influence the humans, he might as well be where they were. Stepping carefully through the slippery mud, he moved towards the bright flame off in the dripping distance.

* * *

The light was farther than it looked and Aziraphale had been walking for about twenty minutes when he heard the voice. 

"Hey, angel! Over here!"

He turned towards the sound and saw a tree. Aziraphale hadn't been aware that trees could talk, but he remembered that with God all things were possible and figured He must have had a reason for wanting a talking tree.

"Yes?" he said, politely to the tree trunk.

"No. Up here, you idiot."

Aziraphale looked up to where a yellow eye was staring balefully at him from a mud coated branch. It looked familiar.

"Demon? Why are you covered in mud and up a tree?"

The demon rolled his visible eye. "Because I was told it would be amusing."

"Oh!" Aziraphale exclaimed. "I guess I'll leave you to it then."

"Wait! I didn't really mean that."

"Then why did you say it?"

"It's a new form of humor called sarcasm. You say the opposite of what you mean with a really wry tone of voice so that people around you realize how stupid they sound when they speak. It's like irony, but calculated to wound."

"Why would you want to wound me?"

"Because you asked a really stupid question. Why do you think I'm covered in mud and up a tree? Could there possibly be more than one explanation?"

"Well, I expect you wanted to see which direction Adam and Eve had gone in and couldn't tell from the ground."

Crawly closed his eyes and his head sank to the branch.

"Actually… that's a fairly reasonable alternative explanation. Except that it doesn't explain the mud or the royally pissed off expression. I'll just tell you, then, shall I? In small words?"

"There's no need to be like that, demon. It isn't my fault that you're muddy and in a tree."

"Oh, call me Crawly already, would you?" he said, exasperated. "Although I'm thinking of changing it…"

"Very well, Crawly. Now will you tell me why you stopped me?"

Crawly really didn't want to have to explain his predicament to this doofy angel, but if he was going to get anywhere in the next week he figured he'd have to.

"I'm a snake, right? We travel along the ground. Which at the moment is wet, clingy, and very difficult to push through. Took me an hour and a half to get this far. I'm cold and I'm never going to make it to the humans' camp at this rate. I climbed the tree to get out of the mud and I stopped you because I want a ride. That clear enough for you."

"A ride? Why on Earth should I carry you to the humans? You're just going over there to make trouble for them, but it's my job to provide succor. We'd be working at cross purposes."

"I thought your job was to guard the Gate."

"It was. Now it's changed."

"And you're now supposed to look after the humans?"

"Not so much look after them as encourage them to be good."

The snake sniggered. "It doesn't work that way anymore, angel. They chose free will."

"They didn't choose anything," said Aziraphale severely. "You offered Eve that apple and she didn't know enough to refuse."

"She knew she had been told not to eat it. Anyway, what's done is done and we can't change it. What I'm trying to say is that by whatever means they now have free will, right?"

"Well, yes."

"So if you traipse over there now and only influence them for good, how is that free will? They might as well be back in the Garden, right? There's no virtue without vice. You have to have some temptation around in order for them to choose the right thing to do. He's not going to be impressed with a bunch of sappy humans who got back into Heaven just because they never had anything to overcome. Where's the character building in that?"

Aziraphale first looked surprised, then thoughtful. "I suppose you're right, dem…" he coughed, "dear."

If snakes had eyebrows, this one's would be raised. But he said nothing. For a moment.

"Great, so how about a hand over here?"

Confused and worn down by the day's events, Aziraphale complied meekly, stepping next to the trunk of the tree. Crawly summoned his energy and slithered down the tree trunk around Aziraphale's bare shoulders.

The angel squeaked. "You're cold!"

"Well, you're nice and warm. Off we go then. Wake me when you get there."

Crawly wasn't an especially large snake; just long enough to wrap loosely around Aziraphale's neck once. He curled up snugly, trying to absorb any body heat he could, and exhausted from the cold trek, promptly fell asleep.

Aziraphale sighed. Once the demon's body had warmed up a bit, his presence was almost… comforting. He walked on.

* * *

It took another thirty or thirty-five minutes of walking before Aziraphale found himself near the sleeping humans. He stopped, not wanting to get too close and shrugged a shoulder to nudge the sleeping demon. 

"Wake up, Crawly. We're here."

Crawly opened one eye. "No, we're not. The humans are still way over there under those trees."

"Well I can't go any closer." Aziraphale looked into the middle distance. "I'm not supposed to be seen, heard, or otherwise sensed."

Crawly grinned, which is a very disconcerting thing for a snake shaped being to do.

"How are you going to influence them, then?"

"I really don't know yet, but I'd best figure out something quickly."

"You'd better or I'll have the field to myself for a while."

At those words, Aziraphale began to get angry. "This isn't a game, you know! Their eternal souls are at risk. It's because of you that they were cast out of Paradise in the first place. I really don't think you should try to make it worse!"

He took a deep breath to try and calm down.

"Besides, you're in the same position I am, so you've no room to talk."

Crawly looked puzzled. "What do you mean? I'm not under orders to stay hidden. I can go right over there and talk to them if I want."

"No, you can't," said Aziraphale, who'd been thinking about this for the last half hour. "I shouldn't think that either of them would like to see you or listen to anything else you had to say. I'd be rather surprised if they didn't try to smite you."

"It's kill," muttered Crawly. "Angels smite. Humans kill."

"Whatever," snapped Aziraphale, peevishly. "Either way, neither of us can do anything until morning when they wake up. I'm waiting here. You may do what you wish."

He sat daintily on a relatively dry patch of grass beneath a tree and leaned against its trunk, pulling his wings around him. Crawly squirmed for a moment, pinned against the rough bark of the tree, until he freed himself and moved smoothly down the angel's chest and into his lap where he curled up sullenly and went back to sleep.

* * *

By the time dawn had broken, Aziraphale was feeling much better. It had finally stopped raining, the sun was shining brightly, and he had come up with an idea about how to help the humans without interacting with them. It would be lonely, he reflected, but it would only be for a few hundred years. He nudged the warm snake curled up on his legs. 

"Crawly. They're awake," he let a note of disapproval enter his voice. "You probably should be, too."

While Crawly roused himself, Aziraphale watched Adam and Eve. Adam appeared to be trying to build some kind of shelter and Eve was looking around for food. When she seemed to have no luck for some time, Aziraphale took pity on her and miracled a strawberry plant a few feet away. When she found the plant and smiled, Aziraphale thought that this assignment might not be that bad after all. He did notice something odd, though.

"Crawly?"

"Hmmm?"

"It's a warm day, isn't it?"

"Yesss, which was why I was enjoying it. Until just now anyway."

"Then why are Adam and Eve still clinging to their night blankets? It's too hot to need them now."

Crawly opened his eyes, yawned widely (3), and slithered up Aziraphale's body and onto the tree to have a better look. Aziraphale giggled slightly because it tickled then looked amazed that such a thing was possible.

Crawly peered over at the humans. "Those aren't night blankets; they're clothes."

"What are 'clothes'?" asked Aziraphale, perplexed.

"They're body coverings. The man and the woman are ashamed of their nakedness and want to hide their bodies. They put them on during that whole scene yesterday. Where were you?"

"I was at the gate like I was supposed to be," the angel sniffed, "not tempting people into doing something they shouldn't." A pause, then, "I did notice that they were wearing their blankets, but I thought they were cold or would find them easier to carry that way." He peered down at his own nude body and spoke quietly. "Why would they be ashamed of the bodies God made for them?"

"I dunno," said Crawly. "It must have something to do with the knowledge of good and evil. Maybe being naked is evil? The real question is, why are you?"

Aziraphale pulled his wings around his unclothed body. "God made us in His image. I am proud to look like Him."

"Then why did you just cover yourself, angel?"

"Er, I got a chill."

The snake smirked. Aziraphale was really beginning to dislike that expression.

"What would you know about it anyway, serpent?" he snapped.

Before Crawly could respond, the ground opened up beneath him, glowing a dull red, and he disappeared.

Aziraphale felt rather guilty that his last words to the demon had been spoken in irritation, but he was also quite relieved to be free of the confusing presence. Ready to do his job, he turned his sights to the humans.

* * *

Some six months later, Aziraphale was resting against the very same tree while the humans slept. He felt fairly satisfied with how things had been going so far. True it was lonely and he often felt like a voyeur, but they were really learning how to live on their own now. Aziraphale no longer had to miracle food for them, but could do more subtle things like make a tiny pebble splash into the river near where the most fish were hiding, or dry out the wood they were gathering for the evening's fire. On the whole, they were living quite blamelessly and Aziraphale was pleased. That is, until he sensed the new presence nearby. It wasn't an angel and there were no other humans yet, so it had to be, "Crawly?" 

"Oh, not you again," came the annoyed reply.

"That's not a very nice thing to say," said Aziraphale. "I was being polite."

Crawly hissed and was about to make some scathing reply when they heard a shriek issue from beneath the shelter Adam had built. They looked at each other and ran. (4)

It turned out to be Eve who was screaming. Her face was contorted in pain, while Adam looked on in panic and worry. Crawly stared.

"Why's she all deformed like that? What happened?"

"She's not deformed! She's with child. I think she's going to have the baby now."

"That huge lump in her stomach is another human? That's disgusting!"

"A very small one, I think," said Aziraphale peering through the bushes anxiously as another piercing cry split the night.

"How's it… How's it going to come out?" asked Crawly, disturbing images crowding his mind.

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. The other angels hadn't been very forthcoming with this information. "I think she's supposed to push it out from a little hole between her legs…"

"That giant thing? It's never going to happen."

A third scream rent the air, echoing around the glade.

Crawly paled. "Listen to that, would you? She's going to be killed. That's not childbirth, it's torture!"

Aziraphale glared at him. "Well, you should have thought of that before."

"Me? What's this got to do with me?"

By this time, Eve was crying pitifully.

"She suffers now because she ate of the tree of knowledge. It was His will that her disobedience be punished by painful childbirth for all women forevermore and that is your fault."

Crawly looked horrified. "But He was the one who assigned that punishment! And to inflict incredible pain on every woman that is to come for the first woman's actions is unusually harsh, don't you think?"

Aziraphale did think. Then he squashed that thought, jumped on it, shoved it into a small box, tied it tightly, and put it out of reach on the uppermost shelf in his attic of thoughts. "I do not question the judgment of the Lord," he said stolidly, his serene eyes clouded with empathy as he looked at Eve.

Crawly followed his gaze and saw Adam kneeling down between Eve's legs.

"What's happening now?"

"I think the baby is going to come out."

The angel and the demon watched as Eve strained, legs askew, Adam whispering words of comfort and encouragement. They saw the baby's bloody head appear, saw Adam take hold of it and gently pull until the baby was clear of his mother, who sagged back, relieved. They witnessed the whole gory process of the afterbirth until a new cry went up. The tiny baby bawled as the new parents looked on fondly.

Aziraphale couldn't stand it any longer, he made himself unvisible (5) and moved forward to see the child more closely. After a moment, Crawly followed.

The baby was a purple-red color and smears of blood were still left here and there on his tiny body. Aziraphale gazed in astonishment at the miniature human with his perfect little fingers and toes, his chubby, but well-formed arms and legs, even the fine, dark hairs on the top of his head. This child was truly a miracle. He stopped a moment to send a prayer of praise and wonder to the Almighty and bless the baby.

Adam took the baby, held him up and said, "Cain". Eve smiled weakly then sat up to take the newly christened Cain to her breast. Crawly and Aziraphale sat together in silence and watched the first child have his first meal as the warm rays of the rising sun began to spread over the Earth.

When the young family retired to their bed for some much needed sleep, Aziraphale and Crawly moved away to give them some privacy.

"Well," said Crawly breaking the long silence. "There's really nothing I can do right now, so I think I'll be off. See you around, angel." Aziraphale saw the flash of yellow eyes before the demon turned and slithered away. He wondered if he'd ever see him again.

* * *

(1) Using them to stay dry was more trouble than it was worth. (2) 

(2) This is also true of umbrellas.

(3) Which is wide indeed for a snake with a detachable jaw.

(4) Well, Crawly curled around Aziraphale's leg and Aziraphale ran.

(5) It wasn't that he was no longer visible, it's just that Adam and Eve decided that they couldn't see him and so therefore they didn't. Aziraphale had found it was much easier to walk that way.


	2. Sons of God and Daughters of Men

"It's easy, Crawly" snarled Azazel, exasperated. "Just a quick strike."

But Crawly just stood there, holding the whip. He was looking at the soul he was suppose to torture. There were only a few hundred of them in Hell so far and they were still something of a novelty.

"What did he do?" he asked.

"Who cares what he did? Your job is just to flay him when you're told to flay him."

"I still want to know," Crawly said, stubbornly.

Azazel sighed and consulted the clipboard in his hand. "Stole a goat, apparently."

Crawly turned his eyes on his fellow demon and stared. In a flat voice, he repeated, "Stole a goat."

"That's what it says."

"And for that he's to have all his skin whipped off and re-grown every day for all eternity?" Crawly felt faintly nauseous.

"Yeah. So get to it."

Crawly raised his arm and the man in front of him cringed. He held it there a moment and lowered it again.

"Oh, for Satan's sake," said Azazel, who snatched the whip from Crowley's hand and began to flay the damned. "This," he said, flicking the whip, "is how," he snapped it again, "you do it," and he hit the man a third time. The man was screaming and bleeding as Azazel continued to talk calmly. "If you snap your wrist just right, you can get the skin off in one long sheet, rather than a bunch of little rolls. It takes a while to master the technique, but talk about craftsmanship. Watch." He did snap his wrist a certain way and suddenly all the muscles and bones of the man's back were exposed. His skin lay in folds around his knees, as blood dribbled out of his open mouth.

Horrified, Crawly squeezed his eyes shut, but the gruesome image seemed burned onto his eyelids and he could still hear the agonized screams. He sank to his knees and started retching. Had there ever been anything in his stomach, it would have come out then.

Azazel stopped what he was doing to stare at Crawly and to give him a swift kick to the ribs. "You're pathetic. Go back to Belial and stay the fuck away from me."

* * *

Not much later, Crawly found himself sitting in Belial's office while the Crown read through his file… again.

"Five hundred years, Crawly," Belial began. "Five hundred years and we've tried you in every position Hell has. You left the desk unattended in Admissions, you bollocksed up the paperwork in Processing, the hounds stampeded when you were in Animal Care, the imps stampeded when you were in Training, half of Dis burned down when we put you into Middle Management and now," he referred to the file, "Azazel says that you get physically ill whenever you're put on the Torture roster. You're pathetic. You've done one decent day's work in half a millennia. What the here am I supposed to do with you?"

Crawly stared at the desk. "The only thing I'm good at is temptation."

"But we only needed temptation once. You tried it a second time and when you came back, you said there was nothing you could do."

Crawly looked up, eyes flashing. "I said there was nothing I could do _then._ There's thousands of humans now. I could get all kinds of souls for Hell if you let me go back."

Belial stared at him and made a dismissive noise. "Fine. Whatever keeps you out of my hair. I'll requisition you a body. Don't fuck up again or you'll answer to Him..."

He made a notation on Crawly's file and dismissed him curtly.

* * *

Not long afterward, Crawly found himself taking his first tentative steps on Earth, tottering unsteadily beneath the bright sun. His center of gravity was off in this ridiculously fragile body that had no wings for counterbalancing and it took him some time just to figure out how to walk without falling over or looking stupid.

Once he felt that he'd mastered walking, he examined his new body as best he could. He was slender and muscular with light brown skin and seemed to have long, wavy black hair. Feeling vulnerable without his scales, claws, fangs, or wings, Crawly set off for the nearest human settlement.

Approaching cautiously, Crawly got his first glimpse of living human beings since Adam and Eve. There were dozens of them in the square, wearing not garments made of leaves or animal skins, but some kind of flexible, colorful material, and they seemed to be tending to goat corpses over fires and crushing grains between rocks. Fascinated by their industry, he moved closer.

As he drew nearer, he realized that all the people in the clearing were women and a few of them were deformed like Eve had been. A village of all women? Was that possible? If that were the case, the male body he'd been given (1) wouldn't work and he'd have to apply for another, which would not make Belial happy at all. Nervously, he tried using his innate powers to clothe himself like the others and was vaguely surprised to discover that they worked on Earth. Comforted by that fact, he drew his courage around himself and walked proudly into the square.

Crawly didn't quite know what to expect from his arrival, but a number of women pointing and laughing at him had not previously featured on his mental list. He stopped, confused, embarrassed and angry and looked around. Everywhere women and children had stopped what they were doing to stare at him and snigger. Some laughed behind their hands, trying to conceal their amusement. Others did not bother. Crawly felt his cheeks flush.

Salvation came in the form of a pretty but serious looking young woman, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, who walked to where he was standing and greeted him.

"Welcome, stranger, to our town. I hope you will forgive my sisters. They have never seen a man in women's clothing before."

_Shit_, thought Crawly. _Different kinds of clothes based on gender? What a stupid system._

"My apologies," he replied in her tongue, though he gave himself a bit of an accent in order to sound foreign. "I did not mean to offend. My people do not wear clothes such as this and I did not want to frighten anyone with my appearance."

A smile curled at the corners of her mouth. "I see. Only a simple misunderstanding, then. I will gladly…" But she stopped suddenly, staring into his eyes. "Tell me, do all your people have eyes like a staff held out to the sun?"

_A staff held out to the sun? Yellow? … Fuck. Snake eyes. What the hell were they thinking Down There?_ He had to play it cool.

"Yes," he lied smoothly. "Our tribe was founded by a powerful snake creature who lay with Bettina, the mother of us all."

The girl nodded. "Yes, we know of Salmascu, the snake god. It is his brother-nephew, Dambu the wolf, who watches over my people."

Crawly tried not to look as though this information came as a complete surprise and memorized the names she'd said. At least she'd bought his ridiculous story.

"What is your name, stranger?" she asked.

"Crawly."

"Crau-lee?"

"Close enough."

"Is that all? Do you not give your father's name along with your own? I am Zabitha, daughter of Zanod."

He thought quickly. "Crawly, son of Antun."

"Very well, Antun Crau-lee," said Zabitha, if you'd care to come with me, I believe my father has some spare clothes he might lend you. I would not wish you to have a poor opinion of my people's hospitality."

She led him to a modest hut and handed him some clothes that were made of similar fabrics, but not as brightly coloured or as concealing as what he was wearing. The brown garment covered him only from waist to knee, leaving his chest and legs bare. As he stepped back out into the sun, she gaped at his fine form and he caught a flare of… desire? He smiled. This was more what he'd expected.

"This is like what I am used to," he said. "But seeing your clothes, I was afraid it would be too immodest. All your men wear this?"

"Yes. You can see for yourself." She pointed to a group of men returning to the village who were indeed all wearing similar garments.

* * *

There was a feast that night in the newcomer's honor. As preparations were underway, word got around that Crawly had arrived wearing women's clothing and after a great deal of teasing and laughter, he was accepted. He learned his first lesson in human psychology that night – if you make people laugh, they'll accept you. Over time, this concept was refined as he learned about people's needs to feel superior to other people and the benefits of being underestimated, but for now, it was enough to be part of the group.

He was seated that evening between Zabitha and her father, Zanod. Though Zanod plied him with questions about the snake people and Crawly made up some nonsense about them being skilled hunters, he did learn a lot about the wolf tribe in return, specifically that they were largely goat herders and wheat farmers. In the meantime, Zabitha took it upon herself to prepare a plate for him of roast goat, vegetables, and some kind of bread that she'd made herself. Crawly stared at it when she'd handed it to him, missing the besotted look in her eye and the benevolent one in her father's.

He'd never eaten before and to be suddenly presented with a plate of charred, dead animal that he was supposed to swallow seemed the most revolting thing in the world. He couldn't afford to offend his hosts, though, so after a quick glance around to see how others were doing it, he picked up a slightly oily piece of goat with his fingers and dropped it into his mouth. It was the kind of experience that one realizes even at the time that it will stick in the memory forever. The meat was warm, firm, and juicy with a pleasantly smoky, spicy flavour and Crawly swallowed it whole, eyes wide at the revelation. Zabitha stared at him and he figured he'd done something wrong. Another quick glance around proved that people were chewing everything first. Well, damn.

"Hot!" was his excuse and her worry turned to a smile. He made a production of blowing on the next piece before biting into it and chewing carefully. This emphasized the taste and texture and he smiled back, amazed at his own reactions and the humans' ingenuity. Crawly tried the vegetables next. They weren't as heady as the meat, but had a lighter, cleaner taste. He finished with the bread, sopping up the meat drippings as the others did and enjoying its mild chewiness.

After dinner, he sat in place under the multitude of stars and listened to the tales of the gods. He heard the tales of Salmascu and Dambu, their sister-wives Cenra and Pilanka, and all the other animal spirits in the pantheon. They were good stories and told well and he learned something else that night – people will believe anything if told with enough confidence. The young man who was speaking, Hanator, was a spiritual guide-in-training, and clearly believed every word he was saying. He was especially fervent when talking of the duties that wives held towards their husbands and inevitably his eyes slid to Zabitha when he spoke on the matter, but Zabitha could look at no one but Crawly. He smiled at her. This was going to be all too easy.

He was invited to stay in Zanod's house that night and they put up frames covered in goat skins to give him and the other family members, including a wife and three younger children, a modicum of privacy. He looked at the soft palette behind the screens bemusedly, wondering what he'd be expected to do now, all hidden away in a corner of the house. He sat down, keeping his ears open to pick up any conversation, but he heard only muted sounds and after a while, nothing but soft breathing. Bored and curious, he peeked out to see the family lying on their palettes, eyes closed, not moving. For one shining, horrified second, he thought they were all dead, but then the second youngest boy kicked a little and he calmed down enough to see that they were breathing. Sleep then. And from the looks of things, it seemed they could be at it for hours. Not interested in waiting for them to wake up and mentally weary from having to learn so much in one day, Crawly lay down, too, closed his eyes, and wondered how to trigger the sleep thing.

The next thing he knew, Zanod was calling his name and he opened his eyes again to see bright sunlight streaming into the house. Pupils contracting to a mere line and feeling disoriented and fuzzy headed he looked up to see the man of the house smiling at him. He was invited to go off with the men for the day and work with the goats and the grain. Nodding, Crawly stood, filing that experience as something to think about later, and followed Zanod and the other men out of the village after a quick breakfast of stale leftover bread.

Crawly's second day as a human being did not go quite as well as the first. The goats were terrified of him and ran away if he went anywhere near them. It made the men nervous. And, unfortunately, his efforts in the fields were laughable despite how hard he was trying and they stopped him before he destroyed the harvest.

"What do you do, then?" asked Hanator rudely. He had not missed the glances the evening before.

"I told Zanod. My people are warriors. I am a guard," Crawly decided. It sounded like a lot less work. "Leave me in the village and let me protect the women and children. I assume raiders come by sometimes? I can stop them."

The men gathered together and argued this idea out. None of them wanted to leave a strikingly handsome young man alone in the village all day with the women, but he was worthless in the fields and they did indeed have a problem with raiding parties taking their goats, food, and women. If Crawly could stop them, that was well. If he died in the attempt, well, it was no real loss. Though he was a couple of hundred feet away, Crawly had excellent hearing and was privy to the full conversation. He smirked.

Their decision made, they all returned to the village and Zanod told him the news. The older man did not mention that two or three of the eldest boy children would be assigned to watch him and make sure that nothing improper went on. It didn't matter. He knew anyway.

* * *

The months went on. Crawly and Zabitha became good friends, which made Hanator seethe with jealousy. It would have been enough of a reason to befriend the girl, but time proved that she was sensible and clever as well as beautiful and it was no chore to be in her company. He didn't need his demonic senses to tell him that what she most desired in the world was a husband and she'd set her sights on him. There was no chance that he would marry her, of course, but he never let her know that.

As for work, he proved his worth about three weeks into his stay when a party of two dozen or so raiders arrived, intending to kidnap brides for themselves. Through a combination of physical fighting and judicious use of his powers, Crawly frightened them off and saved the village, which he rationalized as being necessary to preserve his cover. As he'd done nothing improper in the meantime, that event cemented his position as town guard. He'd also become something of a maternity expert, being the only man present at several births. None of them were any less disgusting than the first time, but he was able to miraculously reduce their pain.

These acts of kindness and mercy, always dutifully explained away as preventing personal annoyance or some such, were overshadowed by acts of demonic cruelty. Though he didn't kill any of the raiders, many of them were severely injured and the others were tormented with terrible nightmares, the concept of which Crawly found endlessly fascinating, despite the fact that he hadn't had any dreams himself yet. He put down 24 souls damned on his first report to Belial. The Crown had been impressed – that was a quarter of the town, after all.

He was much more subtle with the people of the village, though. He had to be if he didn't want to be forced to leave. But there was a noticeable upswing in adultery, theft, envy and arguments, which Crawly stayed well away from. All in all, he'd done a good job while learning to be human and after a time, there was little else he could accomplish there. After telling Zabitha and her father that he needed to return home for a while but would return soon, he was given some food and water and sent on his way, tears and smiles warring for dominance on the girl's face.

* * *

Crawly wandered for a time, investigating other villages, insinuating himself into daily life and sowing discord everywhere he went. For hundreds of miles around, towns became familiar with the curse of the nonexistent snake people and he secured many souls. After nearly a year, though, he began to miss his comfortable life with the wolf tribe and the company of Zabitha, so he returned.

He was expecting a warm welcome from her and her father, not an angry man with a strong staff pointed aggressively at him or pained cries coming from the house behind him.

"How dare you return, snake, after what you've done to Zabitha?"

"I… what?" asked Crawly. "I've done nothing to Zabitha."

"Then how is she having your child?" demanded Zanod, his crook swinging very near to Crawly's head. "You've ruined my daughter."

The demon's mouth dropped open in shock. "My… _child_? That's not possible. We have never lain together. Did she tell you the child was mine?"

Still suspicious, Zanod slowly lowered his weapon, but it was obvious that he'd be ready to lift it again at a moment's notice. "She will not tell us who the father is. And you left at the same time."

"A coincidence, I assure you." He thought quickly. "Zanod, all of my people have snake eyes. If the child were mine, he or she would have the same eyes. I swear to you on the gods that the child is not and you will see for yourself." He paused, then continued quietly. "Let me in to see her. I may be able to help."

Wordlessly, the worried father moved to allow Crawly access to the house. He went in quickly to see the lovely girl, frightened and pained, writhing on her bed, mother by her side. Her eyes went wide as she caught side of him and her already flushed face went redder still.

"Crau-lee," she said, smiling weakly before wincing. He moved swiftly to her head and touched her soft, dark hair, sending her some pain relief. She smiled.

"I wanted to wait for you," she began urgently. "I never stopped hoping you'd return and claim me for your wife."

Her words felt like a knife to the heart.

"But then he came to me." And her eyes went misty and soft. "One of the gods, Crau-lee! On wings of purest white. He told me you'd never return and that he wanted me to be his bride instead.

"Can I describe how beautiful and kind he was? You are as beautiful as a human can be, but believe me when I say that his hair was the colour of ripe wheat and his eyes the sky at midday. Like nothing I've ever seen. His skin was so pale it shone. All that and he called _me_ lovely. I am nothing compared to his beauty. He told me that our child would be the strongest and most fair of any in the village and I know it will be true."

She paused then to strain as hard as she could and tears ran down her face as something inside broke. Crawly didn't notice because the baby was beginning to emerge. It was easily the biggest the demon had ever seen and Zabitha was so petite. Finally, though, between her mother's help and what assistance he was able to give, the little boy was born. He was huge and when he opened his eyes, Crawly went rigid with anger. They were blue. Celestial blue.

Zabitha touched his arm. "I love my husband, Crau-lee and our child… but I love you, too." And with that jagged whisper, she was gone, her body unable to survive the rigours of producing a child. An _angel's_ child.

Crawly went deathly still himself, forgetting to breathe or make his heart beat as he stared at the dead girl, her arm still outstretched towards him. Then, in a burst of sudden energy, he turned and stormed out of the house in a towering rage, unthinkingly let his night black wings burst from his human back for the first time, and flew off.

For centuries after, the wolf people would tell the story of how Salmascu, the snake god, lived with them for a time as equals, eating their bread and protecting their village. Once a year, they'd paint apologetic scales on their bodies in remembrance of the day that he left in anger, in the hopes that he'd see their sorrow and return. He never did.

* * *

There was only one angelic presence in the general vicinity of the village and Crawly made straight for him. When he arrived, the angel was sitting on a rock, watching over a flock of sheep with a mildly bored expression on his sickeningly holy face. The expression made him angry as he remembered what constituted amusement for this particular angel.

Then he recognized the face. It was the angel who'd been assigned to the Garden and then to Adam and Eve. The demon had never gotten his name, but apparently his priorities had changed over the last five hundred years if he'd gone from protecting humans to defiling them. Crawly was astonished that he hadn't Fallen, but then again he wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that God played favourites. (3) At least he wouldn't have to worry about the angel pulling a sword on him.

Moving quickly to avoid giving away his presence, Crawly attacked from behind, toppling the bored creature from his perch and ripping into his back with fierce claws.

"Thisss is for Zabitha" he hissed as they rolled across the ground. Aziraphale landed with his scored back pressed painfully into the dust, looking up wide-eyed at the furious demon straddling him. He struggled, using his arms to fight off further attacks to his face, but they were deeply gouged in the process.

"Who?" gasped Aziraphale when he could. "Who is Zabitha?"

Crawly snarled. "You fucking bastard. You didn't even bother to ask her name before you lied to her and raped her in some field?" He seized Azriaphale's hands and held them above his head before twisting up and planting a knee in the angel's perfect face.

Aziraphale tried to fight back but he was in a bad position, pinned under the demon and bleeding profusely from his back, arms, and nose. It was difficult to counter that kind of irrational, angry passion physically, so he tried to keep Crawly talking long enough for him to heal himself and escape.

"I haven't raped anyone!" He insisted. "I'm an angel. We don't do that."

Laughing bitterly, Crawly said, "Tell that to the baby with blue fucking eyes and his dead mother." He emphasized his point with a knee to the stomach.

The breath was knocked out of him both literally and metaphorically and Aziraphale forgot to heal himself. "…A baby. With blue eyes? Are you… are you certain? But all the humans have brown…" He shut his eyes against the pain.

"I saw them, angel. Your little bastard had your eyes."

_Angel?_ thought Aziraphale. _I've only been called that once…_ He opened his eyes again to peer intensely at the demon and thought he caught a flash of livid yellow. "… Crawly?"

"Crowley," he corrected in the cold, hard tones of true wrath and broke the angel's neck.

* * *

Months later, as he roamed the desert tempting and wiling, but never staying too long in one place, never getting _attached_, Crowley received a commendation for killing an angel.

It didn't make him feel any better.

* * *

(1) Crawly had insisted on being male. He told his superiors that this was because men had all the power and strength. The real reason was because he remembered Eve and her pain all too well. Besides, something about "male" just seemed right. (2)

(2) And for any curious fangirls, yes, he was _fully_ male. All that effort stuff came later.

(3) He will, however, be completely flabbergasted to learn, about 5,500 years later, that he is one of those favourites.


	3. The Flood

It had been a hundred and twenty years since they'd started this project – four men working alone. Three hundred cubits long, fifty cubits wide and thirty cubits high, it had taken an entire forest of gopher wood to construct, but the ark of the Lord was finally complete, and Aziraphale was as tired as if he'd built it himself.

He'd assigned himself to watching over Noah and his family. As much as it pained him to ignore everyone else, he knew that they were all going to perish, and protecting Noah became more important than trying to save one or two of the least wicked of the others. (1) However, Aziraphale had his work cut out for him: Noah's efforts were, at best, laughed about and, at worst, sabotaged. Twice the angel had prevented the ark from being burned to the ground, and he'd stopped four attempted beatings and a murderous attack by unforgiving neighbors. The patriarch attributed it to the benevolence of the Lord, which was true enough in its way, but Aziraphale wondered if Noah knew how much the benevolence of the Lord was filtering through one very hard-working angel.

He was taking a break at the moment, sitting invisibly in the shade cast by the ark, watching as one of Noah's sons returned from a six-month visit to his wife's family so that she could see them for the last time. Smiling, he watched Noah embrace Japheth and his wife, Arathka, but there appeared to be someone else standing with them - a very pretty young woman. Her eyes were properly cast to the ground as Japheth introduced her to Noah, and Aziraphale tuned in to hear, "…my second wife, Adrea." The angel arched an ethereal eyebrow. Multiple wives weren't unheard of, certainly, but amongst God's chosen? And didn't Arathka look jealous? The much older woman was clearly fuming. Concerned that he now had to add domestic harmony to his roster of work, Aziraphale was ready to go over to get a better look at the girl when Ham started shouting and cursing. He'd apparently hit his hand with a hammer. Again. Forgetting all about Adrea, the angel moved quickly to see what could be done about Ham's swollen thumb.

* * *

The next day the animals began to arrive. Aziraphale was kept busy for weeks just trying to keep the predators from eating the prey, the runners from running, the flyers from flying, the smaller creatures from being stepped on, the larger ones from getting trapped, the insects from creeping them all out, and everyone from starving and/or panicking. (Mating was okay, at least, and seemed to be the only thing left to do.) He had never worked so hard, performed so many miracles, or been so tired, and he spared not a thought for a second son's second wife.

But fortunately, difficult things do eventually end, even for angels, and so did this task. Huge, thick, _dark_ clouds were pouring into the sky just as Noah (and Aziraphale) got the last pair of animals on board, (2) and heaved a shared sigh of relief. Last to board were the humans: Shem and his wife Nahalath Mahnuk, Japeth with Arathka and Adrea, Ham and Zedkat Nabu, and finally, Noah and his wife Emzara. They had just sealed the great door when the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

_And all the fountains of the great deep were broken up, and the windows of heaven were opened. _

_And the waters prevailed exceedingly upon the earth; and all the high hills, that were under the whole heaven, were covered. _

_Fifteen cubits upward did the waters prevail; and the mountains were covered. _

_And all flesh died that moved upon the earth, both of fowl, and of cattle, and of beast, and of every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth, (3) and every man: _

_All in whose nostrils was the breath of life, of all that was in the dry land, died. _

_And every living substance was destroyed which was upon the face of the ground, both man, and cattle, and the creeping things (4), and the fowl of the heaven; and they were destroyed from the earth: and Noah only remained alive, and they that were with him in the ark._

* * *

They that were with him in the ark were definitely alive, but bored. It had been five days and five nights of constant pouring rain battering and echoing against the wooden sides of the ark, and the humans were already going a bit stir-crazy. Four of the women cooked and cleaned and bickered while the four men had nothing to do but talk. Noah had only taken enough food on board for the humans, trusting that God would feed the animals, so that task landed on Aziraphale as well. He was kept so busy miracling enough meat and grain and fruit to keep the creatures sedate and happy that he didn't realize anyone was missing until he happened to be passing through the living quarters on his way to the predators' pens.

"And where is that idle wife of yours? Nahalath is tired of doing her share of the work."

"I'm sorry, brother, she is quite ill. She does nothing but lay on our sleeping mats writhing in pain."

Shem raised his eyebrows. "Brother, I must ask. Why did you jeopardize your marriage with Arathka and your relationship with God for the sake of a sickly girl? Yes, she is pretty, but the Lord has warned us to be on our guard when we perceive beauty and told us that marriage is most properly between one man and one woman." He said nothing about lust; it seemed rather obvious.

Japeth couldn't meet his eyes. "She is unique," was all he could say without lying.

"I'm sure she is," replied Shem harshly. "But be on your guard, brother. One woman is not worth the loss of the Kingdom of Heaven." And he turned sharply and left the room.

"No…" murmured Japeth sadly as he watched Shem go.

Puzzled by this exchange, Aziraphale remembered the young Adrea and resolved to visit her once he'd finished his work.

* * *

The angel found a free hour the next morning, and when Japeth was in the shared living area with his brothers and father, Aziraphale slipped into his room. Just as her husband had described, Adrea was curled up on her mat, barely breathing, muscles taut, eyes tightly shut, and sweating heavily as though in the midst of a high fever. But the angel didn't get a sense of sickness, just a sense of wrongness. What was going on here? Aziraphale sent a gentle encouragement to her to wake up, and her eyes slammed open and focused directly on him. Snake eyes.

The first person to actually see him in centuries, and it's a demon. _That_ demon.

"Crawly…" he said warily, taking a step back towards the door.

"Fuck," she replied, closing her eyes. "Not you again. And it's Crowley. I told you."

Aziraphale took a hesitant step forward again. "You can't discorporate me this time. I don't have a body."

"Do I look like I'm in any condition to discorporate anyone?" she snapped. Then she coughed and looked up at him again as his mouth was opening to form a response. "No, don't answer that. It's a hypothetical question. Go on, put me out of my misery, then."

"What?"

"It's been, what, almost two thousand years, and you're still this fucking dense? Just banish me already, and try not to talk, would you? That counts as cruel and unusual punishment."

The angel hesitated. "I should… But it doesn't seem fair."

Crowley snorted. "Of course it's not fair. But you have the advantage. I'm helpless, you win, everyone's happy." She coughed again.

"How does that make you happy?" asked Aziraphale with a frown.

She responded by curling into a ball facing away from him. "Oh, hell, angel. Do it or go away. I can't… talking makes it worse."

Not appearing to have much choice, Aziraphale withdrew. He couldn't stop from thinking about it, though, as he tended the animals. And the more he thought, the more questions he had. He was going to have to talk to Crowley again.

* * *

The angel returned two days later, and the demon looked, if anything, worse. With a nearly inaudible sigh, Aziraphale knelt by her head, produced a wet cloth, and made to lay it on her fevered brow when a hand moving nearly faster than he could see came up and snatched his wrist. A golden eye opened and peered up at him. "Couldn't do it straight out?" she asked tiredly. "Had to sneak around?"

Aziraphale's eyes were wide. "No. I was just trying to help. You looked so uncomfortable."

"You have got to be the worst excuse for an angel that I have ever seen," she spat. "The enemy, who has infiltrated God's great plan and put the last eight human beings on the planet in jeopardy, is lying prostrate before you, and all you can think to do is take care of him. Her. Whatever the hell I am."

"My first duty is compassion," replied Aziraphale serenely, and for all his doubts and worries, that was one thing he truly believed.

The demon rolled her eyes, but let go of Aziraphale's hand.

Taking that as a sign of permission, the angel brought the cool, damp cloth down to dab at her forehead. She looked surprised, but then seemed to calm slightly.

"I didn't think demons could get ill."

"We can't."

"Then what's wrong?" he asked, turning the cloth to the cool side and running it along her high cheekbones.

"Honestly, do you have two brain cells to rub together? (5) It's been raining poison death for eight days."

"It's just water…"

"Holy water," she interrupted.

Stunned by the revelation - he hadn't really thought about it before - Aziraphale's mouth opened in a surprised "o". Crowley started to laugh at him, but her face fell and she began to arch off the mat in a spasm of pain. Not daring to use his holy powers on her for fear of making it worse, all Aziraphale could do was grab her arms and hold grimly on until the seizure took its course. Panting and exhausted afterward, she was clearly too worn to continue the conversation. Aziraphale would have to come back again. He left her dozing fitfully, a glass of ever cool, ever refilling, plain water by her bedside.

* * *

He pondered the issue as he made his rounds over the next few days: While producing bamboo for the pandas, he remembered the awful sneak attack and how angry and vicious Crowley had been in killing him; as he gave mangoes, guavas, and papayas to the smaller monkeys, he wondered if maybe the demon had been right to be so upset; while tossing steaks to the tigers, he thought about the consequences of failure - not to him, per se, but what would happen to Creation if he didn't interfere and Crowley did manage to destroy the ark project; but as he filled the bird feeders with seed, he realized that, more than anything, he was lonely. He hadn't spoken to anyone in centuries. It was true that the demon was abrasive and difficult, but in her condition she was no real threat to him. It couldn't hurt to continue taking care of her for now.

Having made his decision, Aziraphale finished feeding the multitudes of animals and, entirely grateful for the carte blanche on miracles that he currently had, cleared out the several tons of waste that had accumulated that day with a wave of his hand and headed towards Japeth's room.

He was waylaid again by conversation, this time between Shem's wife, Nahalath, and Japeth's first wife, Arathka.

"Sister, I am tired of doing extra work for your husband's other wife, while she lies around and does nothing," complained Nahalath. (6)

Arathka scowled. "I do not wish to see her. I shall do your work if you wish, but I pray you don't drag _her_ into it. If she were to die during the voyage, I would not be sad."

Nahalath didn't look shocked at this sentiment, but Aziraphale certainly was; these were supposed to be the favoured ones.

"I have noticed," she began hesitantly, "that the food your husband sets aside for her each evening remains there the next morning."

"I am not giving it to her," replied Arathka proudly. "Whether she lives or dies is not for me to decide. I leave it up to God. He will save her if she deserves to be saved." She tossed her head.

Tightening her lips slightly, Nahalath said, "Then do her work as well and you will hear nothing else from me."

"Very will, sister," came the response, and they moved off together.

Aziraphale was horrified. They were testing ineffability. They would intentionally cause a girl's death; indeed if she'd been human, she probably would have been dead already, and for no other reason but petty jealousy. He really needed to talk to Crowley.

* * *

The demon was still in her bed when Aziraphale entered the room. She glanced up at him with sunken bright eyes, possessively clutching the glass of water he'd left before. Something in Aziraphale's chest tightened at the sight. Not wanting to frighten her, he sat just inside the door, as far from the mat as possible. "Hello, Crowley."

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I overheard a conversation between Nahalath and Arathka."

Crowley sneered. "That bitch."

"Is it true that she's not been bringing you food like she was supposed to?"

"Look around, angel. Do you see any food?"

Aziraphale didn't. Nor did he see any evidence that food had been there at all. He frowned. "You should probably eat something if you want to maintain any strength at all."

"You think?"

"Why haven't you created it for yourself?"

"Oh, for… do you ever bother to work things out for yourself? Not only am I pathetically weak, but I'm surrounded by blessed holiness. I can't do a damn thing."

Without speaking, Aziraphale materialized a bowl of chicken broth within Crowley's reach.

"Show-off," she muttered, but took the bowl and drank it faster than was prudent, the liquid scalding her tongue.

When she'd finished, the angel asked, "So, how do you come to be married? Do you love your husband?" It wasn't what he'd been intending to say, but it was what he was most curious about. He didn't know if demons could feel love.

Crowley threw the empty bowl at Aziraphale, hitting him in the knee. "You expect me to be so grateful for the food that I'll tell you anything you want to know? Well, fuck you! How dare you ask me that, rapist? Did you love your 'wife'?"

Too late, Aziraphale realized his mistake. "Listen to me, Crowley, I was not the father of your friend's child."

"Liar," she spat fiercely, turning her face away a moment later when it appeared to dawn on her that he couldn't be.

The angel saw her hurt, angry expression and hoped that his explanation would help. "After you discorporated me that day, I returned to Heaven and started talking to people. It took me fifty years, but I finally got in to see Michael and told him what I thought had happened based on what you said. He investigated and found that hundreds of angels had sired children with human women. It was so common, the children even had a name. They were called the nephilim. The higher ranks had no idea…" He shook his head.

"I also did some investigations of my own. It seems that the angel you were looking for that day was named Hayyel." Aziraphale couldn't meet her eyes any longer and looked at the ground instead. "He, I'm sorry to say, didn't recall her specifically… and had already returned to Heaven by the time you set out. At any rate, Michael's ruling came shortly thereafter. From then on, any angel found to produce children was to Fall immediately. There have been no more nephilim since."

The demon looked like she didn't know how to react to that. Aziraphale could see the wariness in her eyes; watched the play of disbelief, anger, pain, and finally a terrible resignation cross her delicate features. It was the latter that broke his heart. How many times had she been resigned to the unspeakable?

"Seducing, abandoning, and killing an innocent human girl doesn't sound like a terribly angelic pastime to me," Crowley said in a low voice. "Sounds like my dear husband, although he wouldn't have the balls to finish the job."

For not the first time that day, Aziraphale was shocked. "How can you say that? Japeth is a righteous man!"

"Oh, yes. They're so very righteous, your men of God. Shem is proud and envious, Ham is a lazy glutton, Noah an angry drunk, and Japeth lustful and covetous. I think the best that can be said for them is that none of them have all of the deadly sins. They're only good by comparison."

"Then why on Earth did you marry him?" Aziraphale nearly wailed.

Livid colour momentarily returned to her wan, pale skin. "Because otherwise I'd be dead," she hissed. "You think I wanted it to turn out this way? Noah was going around telling everyone who'd listen about what was going to happen. No one else believed him, but I did. I know God can be that much of a bastard. I tried to get leave to go back down to Hell, and they wouldn't approve it. I even tried to get transferred down there, and Belial refused. He said I was to stay here no matter what. No one believed it, angel. Not a single demon apart from me thought that God would wipe out His entire creation and start again. That the world would be covered in blessed holy water. Do you have any idea how many demons died a couple of weeks ago?"

Her chest was heaving. "The only way to survive was to be on this ship. And the only way to get on this ship was to be married to one of Noah's sons. At least Belial granted me a gender switch, so after a couple of months in Hell - that were no picnic, let me assure you - I came back and went after Japeth. Shem was too proud and Ham too stupid to be seduced. It didn't take long to figure out that Japeth wouldn't be seduced either."

Aziraphale looked up from the rough wooden floor and in a flat, hopeless voice said, "Because he was too much in love with his wife?"

"Close, but no cigar," she sneered. (7) "He was too much in love with Ham's wife. Dear, sweet, little Zedkat Nabu was cheating on her idiot husband with his elder brother. When I found out, I told him that he'd marry me or I'd share the information with interested parties."

"Blackmail!"

"Yes, of course. The next day we were married in a legal ceremony, and I hope like hell I never have to go through that again. That jealous she-cat gave me a lovely welcome, too. Just for that, I kept him sedated for hours in my tent making all kinds of wild noises just to piss her off."

"Which might explain why she wants you to starve to death…" said Aziraphale, feeling drained. He didn't think anything could ever surprise him again.

"Yeah, well…" Crowley began, but the sudden movements and violent anger had been too much for her weak body. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed.

Aziraphale was on his feet in a second. Even from where he stood, he could feel the heat radiating from her body as she fought a virulent fever; cold compresses weren't going to help this time. Making his decision, the angel gathered Crowley's far too light body in his arms and carried her to the deepest depths of the ark.

* * *

He watched her wake four days later, in a small place that he'd made very dark and very dry. She looked disoriented, her golden eyes reflecting what little light there was.

"'s dark," she slurred.

Aziraphale gave the room a gentle blue glow, just enough to see by.

"Angel?" asked Crowley confusedly after catching sight of her companion. "Where are we?"

"In the hold of the ark," he said with a sigh. It had been a difficult few days.

"And we're in the hold because…?"

The angel only materialized another bowl of broth. "Here, I insist you drink this."

Crowley took it but didn't drink. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

"You were going to die," he said quietly. "Too much humidity in those rooms near the surface. Too many windows. I brought you down here, and left a 'corpse' for the others to find. I'm very sorry to say that the only person who mourned you was Shem because he thought he ought to feel something upon your passing and felt more guilty that he didn't. Then they tossed you overboard, and you haven't been mentioned since."

Aziraphale was incredibly disappointed; he'd hoped for more from the chosen ones. It seemed Crowley had been right about them. But it was not up to him to question the ineffable plan.

"I was able to make some room for you down here. It's not much, but it's largely waterproof, and you should be all right."

Crowley blinked. "Why would you do such a thing? I'm the enemy. I broke your neck."

The angel looked miserable. "I don't know."

In truth, he suspected it was because Crowley had cared enough for a human being that he had been willing to kill for her. It also may have had something to do with the fact that she was the first being he'd talked to in decades, and he was lonely. But neither of those was appropriate to voice out loud, so he said nothing.

The demon drank her soup in silence. Only when she was done did she say, "So now what? I stay in here for another month?"

"Twenty-four days," said Aziraphale. "I think you'll be fairly well healed by then. But you've got to stay in here."

"I understand, angel. And you'll pop in every once in a while to check on me or something?"

Aziraphale blushed lightly. "If that's all right…"

She seemed to consider this. "Yeah, okay. Just, you know, knock first. I might be naked in here."

His blush deepened, and she grinned.

* * *

It turned out to be a lot longer than twenty-four days. That was only when it stopped raining. The _waters prevailed upon the earth an hundred and fifty days_ after that, so it was nearly six months that Crowley and Aziraphale were nominally in each other's company. To Aziraphale's continued amazement, Crowley slept a great deal, healing and bored, while he continued to tend the animals. They generally only met for half an hour a day to share a simple meal.

The angel actually looked forward to these times. The frustrations of daily problems became more amusing in hindsight as he told them to someone else. And the demon laughed in all the right places. And all the wrong ones. She laughed at him a lot.

One particular day, however, he had news.

"Noah released the dove again yesterday, and it returned today with an olive branch in its beak."

"Then I can finally get off this bloody boat!" she replied.

Aziraphale was slightly hurt but tried to see things from her perspective. Six months with only an angel for company and surrounded by holy water can't have been pleasant for the demon. "I'll be glad to not have to watch over the animals any longer. Though there is a hamster I've grown rather fond of…"

Crowley rolled her eyes expressively. Then she started toying with her plate, looking like she was trying to make a decision. The angel watched, puzzled. "Something wrong?"

"No," she replied, too quickly. "So, uh, what's your name, anyway, angel?"

He blinked in surprise; that wasn't what he'd been expecting. "My name? Aziraphale."

Crowley snorted. "Foreigner of God? Nice. Was He running out of ideas?"

Feeling his face going stony, Aziraphale said, "Yes? What's your real name, then?"

She looked away and changed the subject.

* * *

They hit dry land the next day, and the angel had to run around preventing injuries and keeping everyone calm as they disembarked. With animals running every which way, he was hard pressed to think of anything else. When he finally went back below deck to see Crowley one more time, he found the room empty and the demon gone. She hadn't even said goodbye.

* * *

(1) Though he did make an attempt when he saw an opportunity and had the time. He was an angel, after all.

(2) Platypode, as it so happens. And yes, that's the correct plural form of platypus.

(3) Many people interpret the phrase "every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth" in this passage to mean things like insects and invertebrates, and it does, but it also includes demons, some hundreds of whom perished forever in the holy water of The Flood. After that, field agent wasn't exactly a coveted job Down Below, and they could only find one demon stupid enough to take it on. As it was then pointless to have hundreds of angelic field agents to counteract the deeds of only one demonic agent, all the devine agents were recalled as well, save the one idiot who actually chose to stay down there rather than return to Heaven.

(4) Demons again.

(5) Translator's Note: Humans at this point had no idea that thoughts stemmed from their brains. They believed the heart was the logical place for such things to originate, and blood the method of carrying the thoughts around the body. Also, the concept of cells wouldn't come about for another four thousand years or so. Therefore, in the language they were speaking, she couldn't really have said this phrase at all. What Crowley actually said was more like, "Tell me the truth, do you even have two drops of blood to meet?"

(6) At the time and until very near the present day, sisters-in-law were referred to simply as sisters.

(7) Translator's Note: Literally, "The cow was mounted, but no calf."


	4. Sodom and Gomorrah

The cities of the plain had been good for Crowley. Hell had panicked after that Flood business and upped his quota to impossibly high levels. Fortunately, Noah's sons had taken that _Be fruitful and multiply_ thing seriously, and four hundred and fifty years later, he had plenty of people to work on.

There were five cities very near each other in the fertile crescent - talk about convenience - and he'd been drifting between them for about thirty years, encouraging the inhabitants' wicked ways. Hell was quite pleased with his work. Sure, it was concentrated on one area, but they were getting record numbers, so they didn't care. And frankly, Crowley was getting lazy. After the first decade or so, the whole thing had kind of snowballed and his influence was barely needed. Content to watch, drink, and take the credit, he waited for the other shoe to drop.

It did one night in the largest and most disreputable tavern in Sodom. Crowley was sitting near the fire, drinking his fourth glass of the house wine, which tasted like his idea of rat piss but was the best to be had, when Epher, the red-faced brick maker, stumbled in.

"Two brothers," he announced excitedly to the room at large, which quieted to listen to him. "Two young brothers are come to Lot's house and are exceeding fair. The elder is tall and long of limb with dark chestnut hair. The younger is shorter and plumper but with golden curls. And both have the same bright eyes."

A susurration ran through the room at this announcement. It had been a while since there'd been comely visitors in the city. Crowley started counting down in his head and when he reached one, Kena'an's voice rang out. The beefiest and meanest man in town, and smarter than he looked in a crafty, intuitive way, he was the de facto leader of the local gang and very much enjoyed "getting to know" new people.

"Let's go and meet these brothers then," he bellowed. Slamming his cup on the table, he stood, along with every man in the room apart from Crowley, who had taken another sip of his drink to disguise his eye roll. There were only so many gang rapes a demon could witness, really, and he was in no mood to see another.

"I claim the younger first," Kena'an decided. He looked around at all the expectant faces. "And you, Ahrlai, can have the elder."

Crowley nearly spit out his wine. "Me? Why?"

Kena'an grinned unpleasantly. "You pleased me with that fire last week. Too bad those kids escaped, but we'll get them next time. You're smart, Ahrlai. I like that." He got a sly look on his face. "And don't think I haven't noticed that you haven't yet welcomed any of the visitors to our town…"

_Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck! Well, yes, that's the problem, isn't it? Shit._

None of this frustration was apparent, though. Crowley merely shrugged. "Well, let's see if Epher is right about their comeliness, shall we?"

With a knowing look (sure, they all had sex with men, but some people were just _queer_), Kena'an led the gang out the door and up the high street to Lot's house.

* * *

By the time they made it to the house, they had gathered a noisy, lusty mob of about fifty men, young and old, from all parts of the city. Kena'an banged on the door.

"Where are the men who are staying with you, Lot? Bring them out to us so that we may take our pleasure with them."

A nervous, ferrety-looking man opened the door a crack, slid out, and closed it quickly again behind him. Holding up his shaking hands, he said, "Brothers, please do not do this wicked thing. These… men are my guests. I cannot have them harmed."

Crowley noticed the odd pause and the fear which radiated off the man. Something was wrong here. Well, more wrong…

There were angry rumblings starting in the crowd when Lot added, "But look. I have two virginal daughters. I will bring them to you in place of my guests and you may do whatever you wish with them. Just do not harm my visitors."

"Stand aside!" yelled a voice from the mob. "We'll have them all."

"Let us through!" called another.

Kena'an was indignant. He was a fourth generation Sodomite and Lot had only arrived in their city a few years before – somehow avoiding the customary greeting. "Who are you, foreigner, to judge our ways? Just for that, you're going to get worse when we're done with them."

As if there had been a signal, the men began to flow forward, clearly intending to break down the door and take the guests inside. But as they did so, the door opened and two very fair men indeed reached out to pull Lot back inside. Stunned, Crowley froze, but the others pressed all the more eagerly toward the little house, given this brief glance at their prey. He wasn't paying attention when the zealous cries turned to screams.

"Help! I'm blind!"

"I can't see!"

_Oh, fuck me. That was Gabriel. And whatshisface – Aziraphale._

Well aware that this meant trouble, Crowley slipped out of the now staggering, wailing crowd, and around to the back of the house where voices were coming from inside.

"Lot, do you have anyone else here—sons-in-law, sons or daughters, or anyone else in the city who belongs to you? Get them out of here, because we are going to destroy this place. The outcry to the Lord against its people is so great that He has sent us to destroy it."

"My daughters are betrothed, my lords. I'll go fetch their fiancés."

There was a sound of running footsteps, a moment of silence, and then a tentative… "Gabriel? We've been sent to destroy the city?"

"You know of the Lord's pact with Abraham."

"Right, we were sent to see if we could find ten righteous men in the city."

"And if we couldn't, we were to destroy it."

"Oh. I didn't know that part."

"No."

Another long pause. Crowley could almost see the angel's consternated expression.

"We haven't looked very long…"

There was an annoyed tsk.

"There were four dozen men out there who wanted to rape you! What more proof do you need of their wickedness?"

The lesser angel's voice was a little shaky when he responded. "But this is a city of thousands. They could just be a vocal minority…?"

"Aziraphale, if you can find nine more righteous men by dawn, then we'll spare the city. You've got about ten hours. Try to not to get hurt. Raphael will be upset if you need another corporation so soon and the way these men hurt can't be fixed just by getting another body."

More footsteps and silence. Crowley chanced a peek in the window to see Gabriel's dark head bowed - in sorrow or prayer, he wasn't sure - as the Messenger sat in a corner, arms wrapped around his knees. Then the demon was gone, following after Aziraphale, and trying to figure out what to do.

* * *

Darting and weaving through the buildings, Crowley tracked the angel through the streets, hoping that his presence would be disguised by the thick cloud of evil that hung over the condemned city. He followed him through the dark streets, into dens, taverns, and private homes and watched with narrowed eyes as Aziraphale attracted a lot of the wrong kind of attention. The demon couldn't say exactly why he was doing this, but he had a clear memory of receiving a cool cloth when he'd been expecting a flaming sword so he pressed on.

Turning down one particular alleyway, Crowley saw a thin, leprous man sneaking up on the oblivious angel peering through a window. The man's dark hair was matted and his eyes fever bright, but he looked like the had the wiry strength and will to fulfill whatever cruelty he had in mind, be it robbery or rape. In an instant, the demon was at his heels, claws extended. One quick swipe and he'd left four parallel gouges that severed the man's Achilles tendon and he fell to the ground. Aziraphale turned at the noise, seemingly aware for the first time of his danger, but by that point Crowley had already melted back into the shadows.

Aziraphale left the area quickly and once again, Crowley followed. There were two other close calls that night before the dispirited angel returned to Lot's house; not that he knew about them.

Returning to his spot under the window, Crowley heard, "How went the mission?"

"I found no one…" came the lesser angel's small voice. "Men, women, even small children, corrupted beyond redemption…"

"Then we do our duty in the morning."

"And Lot? Did he find his sons-in-law?"

Gabriel snorted. "They thought he was kidding. Or mad. Only the immediate family will be spared."

A soft sigh. Then a reluctant, "Yes…"

Crowley didn't care about the destruction of the town, of course. To have so many people arriving in Hell earlier than expected would make his superiors happy. They tended to see things in the short-term. And he didn't give a damn about anyone who lived on the plain. But there were still two things that bothered him.

The first was that God was apparently willing to wipe out entire settlements when things didn't turn out the way He wanted. The Flood and now this? Crowley thought He was acting like a petulant child who was about to lose a game. Oh, He'd made that covenant with Noah about never drowning the world again; sealed it with rainbows and all that shit. But He had been oddly unspecific about fire, earthquake, or other natural disasters. And the demon planned to be well away before he discovered what it would be this time.

Secondly, that plaintive note in Aziraphale's voice tugged at some vulnerable part of him. It wasn't that he cared about the angel's unhappiness, but as a pawn himself, he could relate to the desperate wish that things be different. Suddenly and uncomfortably reminded of his general powerlessness, the invisible shackles chafed and he remembered why he generally tried not to think about these things. Damn the angel for that, anyway.

Still, he didn't have time for this. Dawn was less than an hour off, judging by the light in the sky. Crowley hurried home to gather up his few personal belongings, then started to make his way out of the city.

Unfortunately, the path that led to the only gates into or out of the city went right past Lot's house, and as Crowley passed, Gabriel, Aziraphale, Lot, and his family came out. The demon flattened himself against a nearby residence, hoping not to be noticed.

"Hurry!" he heard Gabriel say, "Take your wife and your two daughters who are here, or you will be swept away when the city is punished."

Lot seemed to hesitate, but Gabriel grabbed his hand and his wife's, while Aziraphale took the hands of his daughters and together they led them safely out of the city. Crowley followed surreptitiously. As soon as they crossed the gates, Aziraphale cried, "Flee for your lives! Don't look back, and don't stop anywhere in the plain! Flee to the mountains or you will be swept away!"

But the man stopped. "No, my lords, please! Your servant has found favour in your eyes, and you have shown great kindness to me in sparing my life. But I can't flee to the mountains; this disaster will overtake me, and I'll die. Look, there is a town near enough to run to, and it is small. Let me flee to it. Then my life will truly be spared."

Exasperated, Gabriel replied shortly, "Very well, I will grant this request too; I will not overthrow the town you speak of. But flee there quickly, because I cannot do anything until you reach it."

With a grateful bow, Lot seized his wife's and youngest daughter's hands and began to hurry away, the older girl trailing behind.

Surprised to learn that Zoar would be spared - it was just as wicked as anywhere else - Crowley decided to follow Lot there and lay low for a couple of months before moving on. But what was the point of leaving that city's wickedness to infect whatever new cities sprang up in the old's place? Surely _some_ thought had gone into this plan, but Gabriel was treating it disturbingly casually. It didn't make the demon feel any better.

Nor did it help when Aziraphale tilted his head, turned to look directly at him, and said fiercely, "You! "

Or when Gabriel swiveled to look at him, too. "Aziraphale? You know this demon?"

Not taking his eyes off him, Aziraphale replied, "This is the demon Crowley that I've mentioned in my reports. He's a clever and dangerous enemy."

As flattering a description as it was, Crowley was no match for two angels, especially not when one was an archangel, and his mind was desperately searching for a means of talking his way out of the situation and somehow escaping. He'd opened his mouth to speak when Gabriel interrupted – rather rudely he thought.

"Well, I don't have time for him and he cannot be allowed to jeopardize our work. This is your job, Aziraphale. Deal with him. I'll handle with the rest." Unfurling his wings, the Messenger took to the sky.

Crowley watched Gabriel go with relief. Aziraphale wouldn't hurt him, right? Not after the last time... He realized shortly thereafter what a stupid assumption that was to make.

"You did this, didn't you?" Aziraphale demanded of the demon. "The city. The people. How _could_ you?" It was a much more effective question after he'd thrown Crowley to the ground and pinned him there.

"It's my job," grunted Crowley. "Why do you have to come around and fuck it up?"

Aziraphale turned a livid red before hauling off and punching Crowley in the face. "Because it's my job, serpent. And I'm not going to sit by and watch you corrupt these people. There were children in there…"

Sliding quickly out of the path of a second attempt, the demon extended his claws and raked them across Aziraphale's chest in order to try and slither out from underneath him, but the angel tripped him with a vicious kick to the back of the knee and he fell again, rolling into a more defensive position.

"It's their choice," he hissed. "It's always their choice. I don't force anything."

Jumping forward, the angel brought a knee up to connect sharply with Crowley's solar plexus. The demon retaliated with a head-butt that left him seeing stars, but by the way Aziraphale reeled back, he'd got the worst of it.

Staggering slightly, Aziraphale laughed mirthlessly and pointed back at the gates. "_That_ is not a choice. If you're born in there, you don't get choices."

As Crowley tried to get his eyes to focus again, a fist came out of nowhere for another punch, but he snatched a hand out, caught it, and squeezed it hard enough to break bone. Getting a sharp elbow to the ribs for his trouble, he let go of the hand and sank his fangs deeply into Aziraphale's shoulder, tasting angel blood. With inhuman flexibility, he got his feet flat on Aziraphale's chest and pushed off, separating the two momentarily.

"They have choices. They can choose not to participate, not to join a gang, not to rape anyone…"

He directed a kick at the angel's head and Aziraphale didn't quite manage to dodge in time. It clipped the side of his head, spinning him around. Apparently unable to stop the spin, the angel seemed to throw himself into it with all the momentum he could gather and opened his wings out wide, turning them edgewise like the blades of a very large fan. There was a snapping sound as the left wing connected solidly in the middle of Crowley's back and Aziraphale grabbed him from behind. With a pained cry, Crowley swiveled and lashed out blindly.

Pulling the injured pinion out of the reach of the demon's claws, the angel spat, "You mean they can choose to be a victim rather than a bully. What kind of choice is that?"

Crowley used his leverage to flip the heavier being over his shoulder, but with the iron grip Aziraphale had on his arms, one got badly dislocated in the process as the angel's back hit the ground. He was intending to plant a knee in Aziraphale's stomach, but a leg came up and blocked him. The demon clawed at the exposed thigh instead, nicking the femoral artery, and stomped on one of the angel's wings pinned beneath him.

"The kind of choice your people seem to like," he retorted, panting heavily from the exertion and holding his useless arm stiffly to one side. "The one where you have to suffer a whole lot if you want to do the 'right' thing."

He was in intense pain certainly, though it was mostly tolerable, but at the moment Crowley was feeling almost… relieved. He'd been indolent for years and the chance to do something - anything near what he could do - was wonderful. He couldn't say he was thrilled about being attacked, but in fighting back he felt strong, powerful, well-matched, in short, he felt like a demon again. Spending too long alone around humans often made him forget more than the basics of his true nature. Somewhere along the line, Crowley had gotten lost in the lies he'd told. The angel helped him remember who he was.

Aziraphale didn't appear to be able to get up and he was losing a lot of blood very quickly. Still, his eyes flashed angrily as he looked up at the demon. "If being right were easy, no one would learn anything."

"Consider this a valuable lesson then, angel," retorted Crowley as he kicked him in the head so hard that he knocked him unconscious. Out cold, the angel couldn't heal himself and Crowley watched blankly as he bled to death.

* * *

By the time their fight was over, Lot had reached Zoar and the sun had risen fully over the land. Holding his injured arm, Crowley turned to see where Gabriel had gone.

The archangel was hovering over the city, shining brightly, arms outstretched, and head thrown back. It wasn't a hopeful glow. He was pulsing a deep, angry, fiery red. It hurt to look at him, but the demon couldn't look away. God's power was often like that. No matter how horrible the actual event, it was impossible not to gaze in wonder.

Dark clouds began pouring into the sky in just the same way they had after Eden and before the Flood. God may be powerful, Crowley thought, but sometimes He wasn't very creative. Then again, once you've got something that works, why change it? It was easier to focus on such trivial things than what was actually happening.

Gabriel began to speak then, his voice sounding strained and unnatural as it echoed against the buildings.

"Lo, the judgment of the Lord is upon you. You have sinned, and in your wickedness, have caused your own destruction. Behold the power of the Lord and repent. May He look with mercy upon your souls."

A scream began in the cities, as if from one throat, but made up of thousands of voices. Heedless of their cries, the archangel shone all the brighter as blue tendrils of power began to crackle around his body. Without further warning, a massive lightning bolt issued from Gabriel's hand, landing squarely on the tavern where Crowley had been sitting the night before and blowing it apart. More lightning bolts shattered the most important buildings as burning sulfur began to rain from the sky.

Numb at first, the demon wondered what the people had done to bring such destruction upon them. Did God really have such a problem with rampant homosexuality? It didn't produce children, but it didn't harm anyone, either. Then, as if hit with one of the burning bolts, it struck him that that wasn't what this was about. This was about violence and rape. This was about power and the abuse thereof. Corruption. And while none of it had been Crowley's idea originally, he had encouraged the people in it. Threatened by Hell, he'd pushed them so far that they lost all their compassion, understanding, empathy; had become no better than animals. Maybe the angel was right. Maybe they had lost their free will, or more accurately had given it away, and he'd taken it to pretend it was his own. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

All below was panic and chaos. Burning skies, burning buildings, burning people. Crowley wouldn't see anything like it again for thousands of years. The wailing shouts continued until there were no more tongues left to issue them. Charred foundations of former glory, the silent streets of the dead cities were littered with the bodies of the damned.

Crowley watched it all in shock and horror, unable to do anything, unable even to move without becoming violently nauseous. He didn't want to draw the archangel's attention in any event. None of those people had meant anything to him, but no one deserved to be burned alive. The demon glanced at Aziraphale's body. At least he'd given him a relatively painless end.

Finally, it was done. He'd almost thought it would go on ceaseless and cruel forever. But the horrible noise did eventually cease and was followed by an even more horrible silence. Crowley lay on the ground feigning death as Gabriel surveyed the scene and then slowly flew away. It must have been imagination on the demon's part as there was no way at such a distance that Crowley could have actually seen a glint of tears in his eyes.

After some time spent in the stillness, Crowley roused himself. Without looking back at the city, he began to slowly trudge towards Zoar. Halfway there, he encountered a pillar of salt. Its presence was strange and unaccountable and gave him a deeply uncomfortable, melancholy feeling.

By the time Crowley made it to Zoar, Lot and his daughters had gone. Not daring to stay without them and the protection they afforded, the demon wandered on.

* * *

(1) If this seems unlikely, consider that the population of the United States of America in 1776 was 2.5 million people. Two hundred years later, it was nearly 300 million. So, if the population of a region increases a hundred-fold every two hundred years, there would have been about 100,000 people in the area for Crowley to wile.

(2) Figuratively, of course.

(3) Albeit a rather successful one if God Himself had to deal with his projects…


	5. Pomici di Avellino

When he got back to Earth, the angel went looking.

He wasn't sure why except that it seemed like the right thing to do. It wasn't like he _wanted_ to be discorporated again - though the chances of that were somewhat slimmer - but there were things he needed to say. Or maybe to hear.

Aziraphale began his search in the larger cities, thinking they'd be havens for a demon; there were plenty of people to tempt, after all, and many who were already mostly lost. (1) But Crowley wasn't in Uruk, Nineveh, or Babylon. What was in Babylon, however, was a library, the likes of which he'd never seen and he ended up spending rather a bit more time in the city than he'd intended. About a hundred and fifty years, in fact, and Aziraphale unintentionally became the world's foremost expert on comparative flood mythologies. Not that anyone else knew it.

It was only while tsking over the eleventh tablet of the Epic of Gilgamesh (2), that he remembered why he was there in the first place. In the text, Gilgamesh had just gone to see Utnapishtim and his wife - the two immortal survivors of the Great Flood - who told him of a plant at the bottom of the ocean that would make him young again. Gilgamesh managed to retrieve said plant by tying stones to the bottom of his feet, but rather than eating it immediately, he placed the hard-won specimen on the lake shore when he went to bathe and a serpent stole it away, shedding his skin and becoming reborn. Which was odd, Aziraphale thought, because seen in a particular light, that was precisely what had happened to that demon, Crowley, during the… oh, dear.

After a few days of settling his affairs and saying goodbye to his acquaintances, Aziraphale was once again on the move.

- - -

Following the faint energy signatures of evil, Aziraphale was inadvertently sidetracked once or twice before he finally found the demon he was looking for in the tiny village of Nuvlana in Ausonia (3), far to the northwest of the Great Cities and the cradle of civilization. He couldn't imagine what Crowley was doing in this backwater area.

Landing half a mile away, the angel tucked his wings in and changed his relatively well-off merchant's clothes for something more appropriate to a rural town. It itched. The itch was an unwelcome distraction from thoughts that were now down to just around ten minutes to find a reason to explain his presence, although if the previous weeks were anything to go by, he hadn't much hope of succeeding. Somehow he didn't think that coming right out and saying 'Thank you for brutally murdering me two hundred years ago,' would go over all that well, and he hadn't come up with anything better in all his musing on the subject, which, granted, took a hundred and fifty year hiatus, but one would think that in the first fifty years of thinking about it off and on, one could find _something_ to say. When he met up with the goat herder a few minutes later, he knew he'd run out of time.

The young man looked at him. Aziraphale cleared his throat self-consciously. "Hello. I'm looking for..." oh, dear. He didn't know the demon's current pseudonym or even gender. "... someone with yellow eyes?"

Looking suspiciously at the angel, the man said, "Alaite?"

"Er, yes. Yes, that sounds familiar. I haven't seen Alaite in many years. Would you take me to," he made the briefest of pauses, "him? My name is Aziraphale."

He must have guessed correctly for the young man nodded. "I am called Roeban. Alaite is likely in his home. Please follow me."

After a brief stop to ask another robust young man to keep an eye on his herd, Roeban led the angel to a small village of maybe twenty-five or thirty half-moon shaped woven wood homes. Though they looked identical to Aziraphale, the man led him unerringly to one particular home amongst all the others. Four pregnant goats were tied up in a pen outside. Roeban knocked.

"Alaite? You have a visitor. He is called Aziraphale."

Aziraphale heard some muttered cursing and the door opened. Crowley looked... if the angel had to pick just one word, it'd be 'terrible'. It wasn't that he wasn't as attractive as ever, but the demon looked thin and weary and there was a disturbing, haunted, hopeless look to his flat eyes that the angel had never seen before, not even when he... she'd been ill.

"Thank you, Roeban. You may go."

Roeban nodded politely and left. Crowley turned his attention to Aziraphale. "If you've come to square things, just be aware that I'm not the only one here."

Eyes widening in surprise, Aziraphale looked into the interior of the little house to find three men looking back at him. "I didn't... I mean I don't believe in revenge. I believe in duty."

The yellow eyes were unreadable as they bored into him; the body they inhabited, tense. "Same thing for you, isn't it?"

"No!" replied Aziraphale, shocked. Aware of his audience, he swallowed the rest of that statement. "I just... wanted to talk. If this is a bad time, I can come back."

Crowley sighed and stepped out of the way, inviting the angel in. "No, it's fine. Come in. Have a seat."

Vaguely suspicious, Aziraphale went inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dark interior of the house, he saw that it was neat and well-appointed, but humble. It was the sort of place he'd be comfortable living in, but it didn't seem like the demon's taste at all. Not that he knew what that was. In two thousand years, this was the only one of Crowley's dwellings that he'd ever seen, apart from the Ark and that hardly counted. Still, it was a puzzle.

The angel nodded politely to the three men and took a seat on an unoccupied cushion on the floor as Crowley made the introductions. "Roebart, Planister, and Thawlis, this is Aziraphale, a merchant known to my father." The men nodded as Aziraphale hid a confused expression. Father? He was known to Crowley's father if the demon meant God, though that seemed unlikely. Still, practised enough at blending in, the angel said nothing, waiting to find out more before he spoke in order to avoid contradicting one of Crowley's lies. He wasn't here in an official capacity, after all.

"Aziraphale, these gentlemen are the village council. We've just finished our meeting and were going to have a drink. Would you like to join us?"

"Thank you, some water would be appreciated after my long journey."

Crowley looked at him. "We're having wine."

The angel's mouth opened in astonishment. "Oh. No, I won't corrupt myself with evil drink. It makes wise men act like fools and turns virtuous men into sinners."

The members of the village council stared at him with rather dark expressions. Switching to a language that was used before the Flood, Crowley snarled. "_You are embarrassssing me in front of my people, angel._"

Aziraphale looked horrified. "_Your... people?_"

The demon rolled his eyes in a manner so reminiscent of the snake he'd been long before. "_Not those kind of people. They're not evil, they're just mine. I'm head of this village. I have been for decades. When I'd been here too long, I got myself killed and returned as my son to claim the position again. Roebart is the chief goat herder - Roeban is his son. Planister is the chief grain farmer. And Thawlis, who you are thoroughly insulting, by the way, is chief of the vineyard. Sso, before you make me look bad - drink_."

The angel hung his head in defeat and shame. Returning to the tongue they all spoke, he said, "I'm sorry. That was terribly rude of me. I don't know what I was thinking. I would be honoured to drink with you."

With eyes still vaguely narrowed, the men accepted his apology and Thawlis began to pour from a jug by his side into five simple cups that Crowley produced the normal way, one of which looked oddly familiar somehow. Before Aziraphale could figure it out, Crowley lifted the cup he'd recognized and the others followed his lead.

"Nuvlana," he said.

"Nuvlana," they echoed and drank.

The angel tipped back his cup and drank deeply, going into a coughing fit as the alcohol hit the back of his throat. His eyes started to water as he gasped for breath. Aziraphale hadn't expected it to be _painful_. Of course, the fact that the demon was laughing at him didn't help.

"First drink?" Crowley smirked. "You don't gulp wine, you know. A mouthful at a time is fine."

Aziraphale nodded, still unable to speak. The serpent sighed, then stood, returning a moment later with a pitcher of water, which the angel drank from gratefully. When he had his voice back he managed, "I wasn't expecting it to be so strong..."

Crowley smiled at Thawlis, who'd been watching the scene with some horror. "Thawlis is a fine winemaker."

Thawlis squirmed a bit and smiled uncertainly back. "Thank you," he said. Aziraphale got the feeling that Crowley didn't compliment people very often, so they didn't know what to do when he did.

Resettling himself, the demon lifted his cup to his lips again and launched into an amusing and biologically improbable story about the head of a nearby village. Aziraphale wasn't entirely certain why until it became clear that Crowley had been giving him some time to recover as well as smooth over bad feelings with the council members. By the time the story ended, the tension in the room had dissipated with a hearty laugh and Planister took over with some hot gossip of his own involving just who he'd caught trysting in his fields a few days prior. Grateful that he didn't know the people involved in these tales and that he was largely excluded from participating, the angel turned his attention back to the wine, trying a small sip and then another. It still burned his throat, but less so with each swallow, and a pleasant warmth began to form in his chest. By the time Thawlis refilled his cup a second time, he was beginning to find the stories quite amusing and laughed along with the others. This was nice, he thought, comfortable. Like all those evenings on the Ark together. And the fact that he was sitting next to his immortal enemy didn't seem to matter so much, which really should have been a warning sign. The wine was ensnaring him with its false sense of security as it had so many others...

- - -

About the time he'd finished his fifth cup of wine, the others stood to go. It had been a good meeting, but they had responsibilities to their families in the evening, and they left, stumbling and weaving back to their own homes a few paces away. Crowley and Aziraphale were left alone together.

"Ssso," hissed the demon in the suddenly quiet room. "What brings you here?"

They'd come to the moment Aziraphale had been dreading, and yet, when it came to it, he didn't seem to mind at all. Thanks to the wine, the angel was feeling loose and chatty, so rather than agonize over the proper words or the sense in telling the demon at all, Aziraphale simply came right out and said what he'd traveled a thousand leagues and waited two centuries to say. "I wanted to thank you."

Crowley furrowed his brow, trying to come up with a recollection that explained this odd announcement. "For what?" he asked, confused.

"For killing me," said Aziraphale, finishing off his wine and looking for the jug again. "Back in Sodom."

The demon tensed suddenly, the haunted look returning to his slightly unfocused eyes. "Why would you thank me for that...?"

"Two reasons," the angel slurred, carefully holding up two fingers and counting them to be sure. "When I got back to Heaven, I learned they had been planning to recall me. Said something about the world not needing an angelic agent after all the evil people were gone. But you proved to be such a strong, um, opponent that they decided I could stay and try to keep you from making more evil people. Which is good, because I like it here. There are stories."

Looking faintly stunned at the confession, Crowley eloquently said, "What?"

"You killed me. In front of an archangel even. They figured you were good. Well, a good fighter, anyway." He waggled a finger. "But I warn you. I've had fifty years of mandatory combat training since then..." Fifty long years of sword drills that he'd been forced to do with a stick because he'd misplaced his sword. He'd been the laughingstock of Heaven. It had been another reason why Earth was far preferable. But he had become a better fighter than he ever had been before, even to the point of besting other angels who relied solely on their swords. He hadn't tested his skills against a demon yet, but he'd rather not have to, either.

"What's the other reason, then?" asked the demon.

Aziraphale looked at the ground. "Since I was discorporated, I didn't have to help Gabriel... with what he did..." Crowley had saved him from having to kill thousands of people with his own hands. It was a mental horror he couldn't imagine. Gabriel still wasn't the same, even if he had acted on God's orders and simply channeled God's power. It was subtle - the Messenger looked and behaved as he always had - but there was something a bit broken behind his eyes and it frightened Aziraphale. The principality was reminded of him whenever he looked at the demon, but he couldn't quite figure out why. The wine, again, playing tricks on him. Sober, he might have recognized the similar expressions between the two and realized how traumatic an experience it must have been for Crowley as well. Post traumatic stress syndrome, or shell shock, which wouldn't be formally discovered for centuries yet and not understood or treatable for millennia. But it would have gone a long way toward explaining the demon's presence in the quiet little town.

"Huh," said Crowley, draining his glass.

Aziraphale smiled. This hadn't been difficult at all. He should have done it decades ago, it felt so good to have it off his chest. "You're awfully easy to talk to," said the angel, unaware that the alcohol probably helped a little.

The demon seemed to consider this, then refilled his drink.

"I've always thought so," Aziraphale persisted. "Even way back in the Garden. You had that lovely simile about the balloon..."

Crowley looked faintly embarrassed.

"And later, on the Ark. Well, I mean it was nice to talk to anyone by that point, but you've always expressed yourself well for someone either about to kill me or on the verge of dying yourself. Of course, most of what you said wasn't very nice..." The angel held up an unsteady hand to forestall any objections, "but it was sometimes rather amusing."

Aziraphale couldn't believe he'd said that last bit out loud, but the demon was laughing, so it couldn't be that bad so he continued.

"Gosh, it's awfully warm and nice in here. I thought you'd have all..." he waved his hand again, "oh, I don't know, corpses and things lying about."

"Corpses?" repeated Crowley faintly.

"Well, you've killed me so often, I rather thought it would be habit by now."

"Ssorry to disappoint," said the demon, "but even if there were enough sspare people around to kill, I hardly think my villagers would sstand for it."

Aziraphale noticed the hissing, but refrained from commenting on it. It was sweet, he decided, and reminded him of the old days when the world wasn't so complicated. (4) "You mentioned that earlier, demon dear," he remembered. "How on Earth did you end up the leader of a village?"

Crowley shook his head. "Doesn't really matter. Wandered around for a while. Wanted to get out of the area..." He didn't specify which area, but the angel was starting to get the idea, even through the wine fog, as that same look returned. "Found mysself here with a lot of information about when to plant the crops and weird eyes that were apparently a gift from the gods according to the local wise man. Their last leader had just died with no sson and they assumed I was here to take over. End of sstory."

The angel nodded as if this made sense and then felt rather odd, so he stopped. Unaccountably tired, he closed his eyes for a moment.

"Before you go to ssleep..." the demon started to say.

"I don't go to ssleep, er, sleep. I'm just closing my eyes," Aziraphale retorted. The last thing he saw was Crowley's smirk.

- - -

When Aziraphale woke the next morning from his uncomfortable spot on Crowley's floor, he was sure the demon had killed him again. It had been rather foolish to stay in his house alone and to think he could turn his back on him. They had shared several difficult situations, but that meant nothing. They always had been and always would be enemies.

The angel groaned. His head felt like it had been split open and he gingerly felt for the wound. Not finding it, he deduced that it had been fatal and he was already back in Heaven, his mortal shell gone. Cracking one eye open, he winced at the light, dim though it was, but his surroundings didn't look like Heaven. They looked like Crowley's house. Maybe he'd only been wounded and left to die? After a great deal more thought, which came slower than it should, and limb counting, Aziraphale realized that he hadn't been physically injured at all. What he hadn't yet learned was why, then, he should feel so awful? Apart from the splitting headache and sensitivity to light, he was feeling faintly nauseous. The angel was still trying to puzzle this out when Crowley entered through the front door carrying a pitcher of water.

"Drink this," he said softly, for which Aziraphale was grateful. "You'll be dehydrated. After a few minutes you'll be well enough to try getting the toxins out of your system."

The angel's eyes widened. "You poisoned me?"

Crowley snorted. "You poisoned yourself. I tried to tell you to get the wine out before you slept, but you wouldn't listen. It's a lot harder in the morning. The alcohol has metabolized into a bunch of other shit that you have to clear out one by one."

"The wine?" repeated Aziraphale. "Does it have this effect on humans?"

"When they drink as much as you did. Only they have to piss it out."

Aziraphale looked a little green. Trying to figure out why the demon wasn't attempting to harm him and trying to decide whether or not it was appropriate for an angel to heal himself after a self-inflicted action or if he should just accept the consequences of sin, was taking a lot of mental processes, so it was a while before he opened his mouth to speak. Unfortunately, that was just as the ground began to shake.

"Fuck," said Crowley. "Earthquake. Out of the house, now!" He grabbed Aziraphale's arm and hauled him violently to his feet. The angel swayed dangerously but was unable to find his bearings as he was pulled out of the small building. The last thing he saw was the water pitcher fall to the ground and smash right where his head had been.

Once outside, believing the danger to have passed, Aziraphale began to focus on his own dilemma again. That was, until he saw Crowley's face. The demon looked stricken and pale, staring as he was up at the sky. The angel followed his gaze to the peak of the mountain, the slopes of which made up the fertile ground of the village's fields, only to find a great plume of smoke rising hundreds of feet into the air.

"Not again," murmured Crowley almost inaudibly as he ran a hand through his hair. "Please, not again..."

And finally for the angel, everything clicked into place. For two thousand some-odd years the demon's life had been punctuated by disaster: the Fall, the Flood, Sodom and Gomorrah, and countless others - all examples of great holy power directed against him or the people around him, and all of which must have had an effect on the only demon to regularly reside on the Earth. Aziraphale suddenly understood why Crowley had fled, why he dwelt in such an insignificant place. He must have felt he had some control over his circumstances here, could possibly avoid the gaze of God for a while, and to find that he couldn't; to have epic disaster loom once more in the form of a volcano, well, Aziraphale's compassion told him what he must do, aching head or no.

"Demon," he said, "Crowley. We must evacuate the people. Your people. You must lead them somewhere safe."

Crowley turned dazed eyes on him. "You came to herald this."

"No."

The demon's blank expression didn't change during the long silence. Then he said, "My people..."

"I will help."

"Why?" asked Crowley, suddenly suspicious. It was more reassuring than the nothing of moments before, but had he so forgotten what it was to be an angel?

"Because they're people," Aziraphale said serenely. His pain was of no import any longer.

Crowley shook himself and the lost look finally left his serpentine eyes. "To me!" he cried to the frightened people milling about.

The villagers gathered at the center of town, mostly standing in family groups. Several children were crying as their parents and older siblings gave each other horrified looks and another quake hit the little town.

"Silence!" the demon demanded after it passed. "You must listen to me. The earth mother is angry. I do not know why, but soon she will destroy the mountain and rain fire on all Nuvlana. We must leave. Go into your homes and take only what is most necessary for your survival. Then you will follow this one," he nodded at Aziraphale, "away from this place. Go now."

With odd looks at the angel, the people disbursed. Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. "Why am I leading them away?"

The demon was looking up again. "The shepherds are up there. I need to get them down. Just do what I say, angel," he said sounding exasperated and disappeared, running up a narrow track up the hillside.

Aziraphale did what he could to assist people in their packing and to keep them calm. In times of difficulty, people will follow any strong leader and the angel proved that he could be one when circumstances demanded. After a while, Crowley returned with the shepherds who scattered off to their respective homes.

As he seemed to be in a temper, Aziraphale was worried about his opposite number when the demon caught sight of Thawlis, the winemaker, trying to leave with a large cask of wine. Crowley strode over and dashed it from the man's back where it broke open and soaked into the ground. The angel couldn't claim to be upset by this development considering how he felt, but the man certainly was.

"Only necessities, you fool," yelled Crowley who moved on ignoring the mutinous look in Thawlis' eyes.

As the angel watched, he realized that he hadn't seen one vaguely familiar face. "Cr... Alaite!" he shouted, "where's Roeban?"

Crowley froze. "Sshit... shit!" And he ran back up the path, calling out behind him, "Get them out now!"

Aziraphale did as he was instructed, gathering up the people; a shepherd of men he would think ironically many, many years later. When he was certain he had them all, he began the long trip down the mountainside and toward the sea.

After about half a day's travel, the top of the mountain blew off in a cacophony of terrible noise and blinding smoke. The people had been prepared, however, and curled to the ground with wet strips of fabric covering their noses and mouths as the cloud of superhot gases and ash passed by. Miraculously, no one was hurt.

By dusk, the exhausted people had to stop as their limited visibility ended completely and the angel let them set up camp for the night beneath the glow and heat of the mountain. As they made their preparations, he wandered back up their path. Drawn by instinct, he wasn't surprised to see Crowley flying toward his location, Roeban's unconscious form in his arms. The demon was sooty and looked tired.

"Take him," he said with no preface. "I have to go back. The lava is moving faster than you are. It'll overtake them by morning if I can't divert it."

Aziraphale gathered the young man in his arms. Not quite sure what to say and well aware he couldn't and shouldn't talk Crowley out of this course of action if they were all to survive, he simply gazed into the demon's eyes. "Good luck."

When Crowley had flown away again, Aziraphale added quietly, "And God bless..." Turning, he took Roeban back down to his worried father.

They traveled for another day with no further problems, but the angel had an uncomfortable, ominous feeling. When everyone else went to bed for the night, he slipped out of camp and headed out on his own toward the still smoking crater. Flying, he reached Nuvlana quickly to discover that it had been almost entirely enveloped in a mudslide. Nothing of it remained. Instead, he turned to follow the lava flow down the mountainside.

At a point not terribly far from where they had camped the night before, Aziraphale noticed that the flow shifted abruptly to the left. Investigating further, he found several large boulders grouped together to divert the molten rock away from where the people had unsuspectingly lain. Near the boulders, however, just off the lava stream, the angel spotted something charred and odd. Aziraphale flew closer to look curiously at it and then began to retch. It was Crowley. Or what was left of him. Somehow he'd fallen in his battle against the forces of nature and curled into an unnatural position; his mouth still gaping open in horror.

Unsure when or where he'd see him again and hoping that Crowley wouldn't get into too much trouble for his actions, Aziraphale hastily buried his remains and returned to the camp feeling heavy and grieved, though he knew the demon still existed somewhere. In the morning, they'd continue their journey and once he'd found a place for Crowley's people to thrive, he would leave them. Considering all of what had happened, he just wanted to return to Assyria to have some quiet alone time to think.

- - -

(1) The angel never gave up entirely on a soul until the individual's death. There were such things as deathbed confessions; repentance could come at any time and he needed to be ready to help save if it did.

(2) Which was _clearly_ added later and just stolen from the Atrahasis Epic anyway…

(3) Nola in Italy, essentially. Not then, of course. But eventually.

(4) People (and people-shaped beings) have always thought the world used to be less complicated. Even Adam and Eve walked around going, "Remember yesterday? When it was easy to pick that fruit and name that animal? Things were so much less complicated then."


End file.
